


pan de muertos

by moldylemons



Series: gotta get that bread au [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Crack, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Food, Food as Cultural Appreciation, Getting Together, M/M, Mild mentions of cannibalism, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 03:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moldylemons/pseuds/moldylemons
Summary: Dylan works at the bakery that supplies the pastries for the cafe where Mitch works. They're roommates and best friends.Auston owns the tattoo shop down the block.A story about culture shock, found family through cooking, and sharing cultures.





	pan de muertos

**Author's Note:**

> re: the cannibalism mention: it's not at all graphic, and it happens at the end of the second paragraph. It's mentioned in passing as a character is looking up the history of a kind of bread popular in a region where old civilisations practiced ritual sacrifice to their deities. it involves a human heart, and is less graphic than the indiana jones movie, but can provoke similar imagery. if that is an issue, feel free to skip over it, or leave this fic entirely, no judgement. please take care of yourself <3
> 
> IF YOU FOUND THIS BY GOOGLING YOURSELF OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW, PLEASE TURN AWAY NOW. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. I DON'T OWN THE PEOPLE OR CHARACTERS IN THIS STORY.
> 
> big thank u to the fart chat for letting me scream at you about this 'verse for,,,,,,literally years now. i hate myself for taking this long to actually write something for it. also big thanks to karen for inspiring me to write more, and also for just going right into the doc and fixing all of my tenses for me while i dealt with a 3 hour ordination service. i love you all.
> 
> i'm bad at writing dialogue pls be nice to me

Some of Dylan’s favourite stories to tell are of spending time in his friend’s abuela’s kitchen learning everything he could about Mexican food, and they’re Mitch’s favourite thing to ask about; Dylan has always been great at stories, and Mitch will always love listening to them. Listening to tales of soaking corn husks and making the maza for tamales, and of keeping a pot of green chile stew always simmering on a back burner all through fall. Mitch feels warm just hearing about it.

 

So, when Auston casually mentions looking into trying to find some pan de muertos for the small ofrenda he’s putting together while he orders his coffee that morning, Mitch immediately makes a note to look up what the hell pan de muerto is, and after three different websites describing ritual sacrifice and cannibalism in weirdly specific detail--seriously, he does NOT need to imagine people literally biting into the heart of a princess, what the FUCK--he decides it’s time to call in the big guns and talk to his roommate.

 

Mitch: what do you know about dead people bread?   
Dylan: dude first of all, what the fuck, second of all, are you calling me about sin-eaters?

Mitch: what the fuck is a sin--no wait. I’m talking about the actual bread stuff, the, uh, panda meertos ?   
Dylan: -laughing- the what?

Mitch: PANDA MEERTUSS! You know, the bread for Mexican Halloween.

Dylan: “Mexican Halloween?” Do you mean Dia de los Muertos? Also wait since when do you care about bread if I’m not handing it to you warm, or you’re buying fucking white bread from the store? And why would you care about pan de muertos, specifically?

 

\---

 

The next time Mitch sees Auston, he looks like he’s absolutely dead on his feet the second he walks in the door, and Mitch takes one look at him and just points him to his usual table in the corner without letting him stop to order. After a half-hearted wave, Auston kind of shuffles off towards the table, narrowly avoiding knocking into the counter of creams and sugars, and Mitch takes a moment to just watch him walking away before starting on making him something warm and comforting.

 

Mitch takes his break once he finishes making Auston’s drink, grabbing a cookie for himself, so he can take Auston his coffee and see if he wants to talk.

 

Auston startles a little when Mitch sets down his coffee, and then looks confused at the mug in front of him as Mitch sits down across from him. 

 

“Please tell me that this is coffee, and not just sugar.” Auston says, already picking up the mug.

 

“I mean,” Mitch starts, “there’s definitely espresso in it. But you looked like you needed a hug, so I made you one.”

 

“You...made me a hug?” Auston asks.

 

“Yeah,” Mitch replies. “That’s a hug mocha; it’s regular and white chocolate. Plus three shots of espresso because you look fucking wrecked, and then soy milk because you’re a nerd. I also threw in some cinnamon because it’s spooky season or whatever.”

 

Auston picks up his coffee and takes a deep breath before taking a sip, closing his eyes as he tastes it. ”Dude, this kinda reminds me a little of the hot chocolate my mom used to make, but like, the white people version and with coffee.”

 

Mitch laughs, breaking off a piece of his cookie. “Well I’m honoured,” he replies, “but I’m pretty sure Dylan has some Mexican chocolate lying around our apartment somewhere if you’re more keen on the real thing than just ‘the white people version.’”

 

Auston looks up. "Why would Dylan have Mexican chocolate?" he asks just as Mitch popped the piece of cookie in his mouth.

 

"Oh, uh," Mitch stumbles around his mouthful of pastry before swallowing quickly, "when he was a kid, Dylan like, got really close with his friends grandma who was apparently Mexican, and she basically adopted him and taught him how to cook, and when she died, her daughter took over. He still goes over to her place at least once a week for dinner." He breaks off another piece of cookie, poising it in front of his mouth as he continues, "But they're the reason he went into cooking, and basically forced him into the culinary program at the University of New Mexico and made him stay with their family while he was there. He may be super white, but Mexican food is a huge part of who he is. I think he wrote a paper about the importance of food and culture before he graduated."

 

Auston looks kind of stunned, holding his mug up to his lips as Mitch eats another piece of his cookie, seemingly unaware of how much he has just rocked Auston's world.

 

“Wait, so Dylan just. Casually got really into Mexican cooking while growing up in Toronto?” Auston asks.

 

“I mean,” Mitch replies, “He’s technically from Mississauga, and there’s absolutely nothing casual about it anymore, ‘cause he literally got a degree in cooking, but yeah, pretty much. That’s his family now.”

 

Auston takes another sip of his coffee, considering. “So does that mean he knows where all the good Mexican bakeries are in town? Because I’m still looking for decent pan de muertos before November.”   
  
“Dude, Dylan  _ is _ the best Mexican bakery in town,” Mitch laughs. “But also, don’t worry about it. I already talked to him about it, and he’s gonna be making a whole bunch this weekend and bring some over for you with the rest of the cafe’s order.”

 

“Wait, seriously?” Auston says, surprised, “He doesn’t have to--”   
  


Mitch cuts him off with a wave of his hand before reaching for the rest of his cookie. “Nah, it’s chill. When I brought it up he got super excited and decided he would make it as the special for the end of the week, since he pretty much has free reign over it. But he did want me to ask you if you wanted yours to be traditional, or if you wanted a specific design.”

 

“Traditional is fine,” Auston says setting down his coffee, “like, I honestly wasn’t even expecting to find some this easily, I’ll take whatever.”

 

“Sweet, I’ll text him and let him know,” Mitch says, already pulling out his phone. “But I can see Australian Jake up there kinda giving me the eye, so I should head back up there, but seriously like. Take a nap or something, the couch in the corner is comfy enough for it.”

 

“I’m not taking a nap on the cafe couch.”

 

“Your loss, dude,” Mitch says, popping the rest of the cookie in his mouth as he stands up. “That couch is hella comf for naps, and I say this from personal experience.”

 

“Go back to work, you asshole.”

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


A few days later finds Mitch and Dylan’s apartment filled with smells of kind of weird herbs, but like. In a happy fun bread way. It’s been a while since Dylan messed around with pan dulce in the apartment--he’s always such a perfectionist, and  _ conchas are hard, Mitch. I don’t care how delicious they are, they’re a pain in the ass _ \--so Mitch is in figurative bread heaven. He doesn’t actually see Dylan at all, but his presence is evidenced by the mountain of clean dishes laid out to dry, the smell of orange and cinnamon and anise, and a new dusting of flour in the corners of the kitchen that they can never quite get clean. And also the small pile of amassed loaves sitting on the counter. There’s a post-it next to them that reads “ _ trying out this recipe. does this make you think of the one i made for you a few years ago? DON’T TAKE THESE TO CUTE TATTOO GUY I’M NOT FINISHED WITH THEM.”  _ There's another post-it next to it that says _ "also btw we're out of eggs. i'll pick some up omw home." _

 

Mitch laughs and picks up one of the small loaves on the counter, turning it around to look at the pattern on the top, but trying to keep the dusting of sugar from falling off the top. He carefully breaks off a piece, looking at the inside to see how it was baked through so he could tell Dylan about it, and then takes a bite and nearly sinks to the floor. Now that he’s tasting it, he remembers that he  _ has _ had pan de muertos before, when Dylan brought him to dinner with his tia, who had taken over the food education when her mother died, and they had had this whole table set up in their living room covered with food and photos and orange flowers everywhere, and everything had skulls everywhere, but like, colourful ones? And the whole house smelled incredible, and he remembered eating a bread that tasted a lot like this one, but maybe a little less spicy.

 

He pulls out his phone to to text Dylan “ _ maybe a little heavy on the cinnamon, but in a good way” _ and then puts his phone down to continue communing with the incredible food in front of him.

 

\---

  
  


The end of the week finds Mitch at the cafe at 5:30am on November first to handle the delivery from the bakery. It’s the first time he’s seen Dylan in nearly a week and a half, and it’s also the most excited he’s ever seen Dylan look before 9am, which may have something to do with the extra box he has in his hand labeled “ _ HOT TATTOO GUY.” _  As soon as Mitch sees it he groans.

 

“Dude,” he starts, already reaching out for the box, “you could have, like,  _ not _ tried to make this as awkward as possible for me.”

 

Dylan hands the box over easily with a laugh. “Chill out, I’m the one who wrote it. Maybe I’m the one who thinks he’s hot.”

 

“Oh, so now you’re going after Auston instead of Connor?” Mitch asks. “I don’t think so, bud.”

 

“I didn’t say anything about Connor, just take the fucking box so I can finish unloading this shit for y’all to sell or whatever,” Dylan dismisses himself, already turning to grab the next pastry box to start loading up the glass case in the front of the cafe.

 

Mitch rushes off to the back room to leave the box for Auston on the table for when he comes in later, and then hurries back out to help Dylan stock the pastry case, because that’s. Uh. His job. And he is At Work.

 

-

 

Waiting for Auston to come in for his coffee at eleven is quite possibly the hardest thing that Mitch has ever done in his whole entire life. The five and a half hours feel like  _ days _ and Mitch is jittery all day, to the point where his coworkers have all been asking if he had an extra three shots this morning. Which he  _ didn’t _ , he had a perfectly respectable one-shot latte this morning because he messed it up for a customer and didn’t have the heart to throw it out. No he is  _ not _ on a caffeine rush, Jake, thank you  _ very much _ . He’s just nervouse. The pastry box in the room behind him feels like it’s burning a hole into the back of his head, and he’s never felt so distracted while surrounded by the smell of coffee.

 

Which means that when Auston does actually walk in the door, Mitch looks up while steaming milk and nearly drops the pitcher all over the counter and his feet. He’s mostly recovered by the time Auston makes it to the bar to order, and sets down the milk to dry his hands.

 

“Hey,” Mitch smiles up at Auston. “I have something in the back for you, hold on a sec.” Mitch turns around and heads into the back room to grab the box from Dylan and comes back, passing it over the counter. “Just ignore the ‘hot tattoo guy’ thing. Dylan thinks he’s funny.”

 

“So you don’t think I’m hot?” Auston asks.

 

“Uhhh,” Mitch stutters, “I didn’t say that? Like, you’re definitely more than just hot, you’re also crazy talented and also super nice. Don’t let yourself be reduced to just being hot, dude, you’re a total catch.”

 

Auston freezes for a second, looking down at his feet. When he looks up, he looks tentative but optimistic, and reaches out to cover Mitch’s hands on the pastry box.. “Was it enough to catch you?”

 

“Dude,” Mitch replies softly, “you had me the first time you came in stressed about thinking that you hurt someone while tattooing them. It wasn’t fair at all that you were hot,  _ and _ a good artist,  _ and _ that you cared so much about your work. I’ve been hooked for a while.”

 

“If I come behind the counter to kiss you, is your manager going to write you up?” Auston asks.

 

“He could fire me and I wouldn’t even care,” Mitch replied already setting down the pastry box and walking around the counter to step into Austons space. 

 

Auston leans down, brushing his nose against Mitch’s for a moment before whispering “I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

 

“God, me too,” Mitch responds, leaning up to press their mouths together.

 

“And as the manager on duty,” a voice says from behind the counter, “I feel the need to tell you that I would have been okay with this happening behind the counter, because it’s about fucking time that you two got your shit together.”

 

Mitch breaks apart from Auston. “Jake, you can fuck entirely off and just let us be fucking happy for one goddamn second.”

 

Auston is laughing when he presses their mouths together again, and honestly, Mitch wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to the end notes. i have a lot of extra content for you.
> 
> first of all, dylan is basically me, except i haven't made a profession out of cooking with my tia, as much as she likes to joke that i should. her mom never taught me anything about cooking, but she was absolutely my abuela; i gave her just as much shit as she gave me, and that broke through every language barrier we had when i was a child. I am Super White, but grew up in an area surrounded by latinx culture, and am lucky enough to have a close family friend who has taught me almost everything i know, as well as some truly superb language teachers who went above and beyond their duties in teaching not only the language, but also the culture to better understand the language. 
> 
> -i didn't get the opportunity to put this in here, but the reason auston is so tired is 1. because he just never sleeps. someone tuck him in and let him sleep for three days. 2. he's a tattoo artist, and he's working on a design for a client that is, kind of difficult. the design is a whale skeleton with a bee hive in the ribs and flowers around it, and a ribbon going through saying "what's a god to a nonbeliever." it is going on the client's thigh. the client is me.
> 
> -does this seem like it happened too fast? i promise that in the 'verse this is a part of, this has been A Long Time Coming.
> 
> -the bigger verse this is part of? it's a punk bakery au. they all have tattoos and piercings. it's connor mcdavid/dylan strome and mitch marner/auston matthews. connor is a kindergarten teacher who does not yet have any tattoos or piercings. that will change. mitch is a barista while he also attends art school, because he also wants to teach art. mitch is also me.
> 
> -content in that larger 'verse includes: mitch saying Out Loud While At Work that he wants to use auston's ass as a pillow. his friends never let him live it down. ever. "he's done more to that ass than just use it as a pillow" is another favourite. sometimes dylan forgets to take off his apron when he takes his break at the cafe and people think he works there. he's told people to fuck off for this, but also sometimes he does actually make them coffee or grab something from the pastry case for them. by "them" i mean connor. connor is the only person he has done this for, and connor has never made that mistake again after realising that dylan does not, in fact, work at the cafe. dylan only works for the bakery that supplies the pastry for the cafe.
> 
> -an explanation on the line about dylan having free reign over the pastry specials at the cafe: dylan has a deal with the owner of the bakery where if he has a bunch of fun making stuff off menu, that can be a one-day special item at the cafe. this is because dylan makes a lot of mexican/mexican inspired items. he really loves making empanadas.
> 
> -would i even be me if i didn't have [an accompanying playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2B0hA7ODokcJjbt2NKhqwu) for a fic? i don't think so  
> it's mostly just a playlist of songs that would be played at the cafe. maybe mitch is in charge of the playlist. maybe his crush on auston influenced it a bit. maybe he doesn't want to talk about it, the music is good. whatever.
> 
> -i also have just a playlist for mitch and auston, which you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5mfIQx4Qh8vPOBtQppcDiz)   
> and it is one of my favourite playlists


End file.
